Prelude: Lazy Anticipation

The curtains are open just enough to reveal the surrounding West Virginia hills. It is a new day, and a wet one at that. Muggs has stirred, walking over to check on Harriet, he has grown very protective of her in these last few months. I too wonder if she is going to get up but instead she rolls over towards the inside of the bed and my warmth. I smile, gazing out the window at the late summer rain, as my wife whispers, “ I’m putting the baby on you.” Lying in our bed lit by the morning light, Harriet presses up against me and I feel our unborn child kick against my bare skin. This is our favorite part of the day, the early cuddle session, and for the last nine months we’ve felt our daughter grow in the warmth of that early embrace.

    I lie there holding my wife in my arms, watching the dog as he watches the world outside our big bay window. I think about this world, the one baby Martha is being born into and I hope she understands, or at least senses, that the soft sighs of contentment and the easy proclamations of affection shared by her parents are but tiny representations of the love that has brought her into existence. You will be loved little Martha.

   As the rain falls, like it does so often in West Virginia, I think about your impending arrival. I try to remember all the instructions for labor that your mother has given me. She is brilliant, she is beautiful, she is tough and I don’t want to let her down. You will understand that soon enough, though I venture to guess that those very attributes are already becoming familiar to you, as they are part of your inheritance.  You will be here soon, little Martha, kicking us with your tiny feet, unrestrained by your mother’s womb, and I cannot wait to whisper my love to you, just as you’ve heard your mother and I whisper it to each other, every day for these nine months.